


Regrets Only

by c_r_roberts



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Complete, F/M, Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 12:03:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5047777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/c_r_roberts/pseuds/c_r_roberts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>I’m not sure how long we lay there like that, naked and entangled together.  I think I even drift in and out of a light sleep, because the next thing I know, it’s the middle of the night and Peeta’s stirring beside me.  When I open my eyes to him, it doesn’t look like he’s slept at all. The fire crackles in the old stone hearth, and the scent of smoke and pine and cold musty air fills the room.  “Don’t get married,” Peeta suddenly tells me, his voice soft, but urgent. My heart breaks at the earnestness in his eyes.  “At least not to Gale.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>  </p><p> </p><p>  <em>In Panem AU.  </em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Katniss, every bride wears white on her toasting day."

"Well then I guess that makes me a rebel."

My sister sighs. "Why won't you just look to see what's available?"

Because it's a waste of money, that's why. But Prim's always had a weakness for nice things, so she can't understand why I'm not more concerned about what I'm going to wear a month from now. She doesn't realize that the money I'd spend on one of those stupid dresses could be better used on other, more practical things. Like food. Or clothing you can wear for more than just a few hours.

"Why does it matter so much to you?" I finally ask. I still have no intentions of spending money on my toasting dress, but I know that I'm probably going to end up indulging Prim and trying some on at Miss Rowena's shop on the square. After all, Prim's dragged me halfway there already. And little sisters can be awfully hard to say no to.

"I just want your day to be perfect," Prim says matter-of-factly. "Don't you want to look pretty? What are you planning on wearing otherwise? Dad's hunting jacket?" The look of horror on her face as she speaks almost makes me laugh. It also makes me consider her suggestion—it'd be pretty appropriate, actually, me marrying Gale in that jacket. It's what I what I met him in, after all.

In reality, I plan on wearing one of our mother's old dresses from her days as a merchant girl, or, if I succumb to peer pressure enough, Madge Undersee has already offered to lend me the white dress that she owns. But it's fun to needle Prim all the same. I like the rise I can get out of her. "That's a great idea!" I tell her, grinning when she cries out that I _can't be serious._

"Relax," I tell her as we reach the square. It's a beautiful Saturday afternoon in October, so it's bustling with people purchasing apple cider from a makeshift stand the Dowry family's set up on the southwest corner, while other townspeople are busy making purchases from the apothecary or the bakery or the butcher before the shops close for the evening. I gesture toward the dress shop across the square from where we're standing. "Lead the way. Let's try on some dresses."

Prim grins a grin that makes the next exhausting hour of my life completely worth it.

I come out of Miss Rowena's dress shop hating all things lace, all things corset, and all things white. I'm also not too fond of Miss Rowena, who wasn't very welcoming of Prim and me. I think she thought we were in there just to play dress up—not that I blame her; it's hard to believe I'm getting married myself. Though her tune changed when Prim mentioned I'm betrothed to Gale Hawthorne and the toasting's next month. Even though Gale's Seam through and through with his dark hair and eyes and olive skin, even the Merchant ladies take notice of him. And apparently marrying Gale suddenly makes me more worthy of Miss Rowena's dresses. We leave with her telling me to come back once I've made up my mind, and even Prim has to bite back a grin because she knows I'm never going back to that shop.

"I propose a compromise," I tell her, once we're back on the square, which has lost some of its crowd since it's just past five and most of the merchant stores have closed. I'm eyeing the town's bakery, just a few storefronts down from us, as I speak. "If I don't rent a dress, I think we'll be able to afford a toasting cake. And that way, everyone gets to enjoy something nice."

I'm playing dirty now, I know that. The only thing Prim loves more than fine fabrics and nice dresses are sweets from the bakery. Especially the sweets that are so artfully decorated they're almost too pretty to eat. I walk us past the bakery, officially closed for business, which is the best time to check out the window displays anyway, because there's no mean old Mrs. Mellark to shoo us away for "trespassing." I can still smell the aroma of freshly baked bread and cinnamon rolls, and it makes me so hungry my stomach rumbles out loud. If there's any silly toasting tradition I can get behind, it's sharing one of the bakery's cakes with family and friends afterwards. At least that's providing sustenance.

Prim looks at me like she knows exactly what I've just done. Even though she's my baby sister, she's eighteen, a legal adult. She knows when she's being bribed. She shakes her head at me, but then steps up to the bakery's window to ogle the cakes and cookies and tarts that decorate the display shelves inside. "Fine. But you have to get one with sugar flowers. They're so beautiful I'd swear they're real."

I smile, not only because I've won, but because taking Prim past the display cakes has brought me joy since she was barely tall enough to see inside. "Sounds like we have a deal, Little Duck."

***

When I show up at the bakery's back door the next morning, I'm expecting to see Mr. Mellark, the kind baker my mother's age who always trades me above asking price for my squirrels. Instead, there's only Peeta, the baker's youngest son, who's currently wrapped up in conversation with no less than three women, all gathered at the counter he stands behind. All of them give me the evil eye when he interrupts and excuses himself in order to greet me. Peeta Mellark is the definition of District Twelve's Merchant class, with golden blond hair and crystal clear blue eyes. We're the same age, and while he was nothing to sneeze at in school, the years have been kind to him. His shoulders have filled out even more than years of wrestling allowed, and though he still has a boyish air to him, his features have squared off and sharpened just enough to make him more handsome than cute. And coupled with the fact that he's in line to take over the bakery one day—one of the district's most successful businesses—just as they're doing right now, women flock to him.

Peeta runs the bakery with his father these days. He's the youngest of three Mellark boys, though his middle brother was reaped the year we were fifteen, and while he made it pretty far in the Games, he died before the final four. And his eldest brother married Madge, and now works for her father, the District's mayor, as one of his council members. Peeta's popular, good looking, and he's got charm to spare. He's also friendly with everyone, and kind even when he doesn't have to be. But he never has much to say to me. Usually, when I show up at the bakery and he's around, he ignores me and lets his father take care of business. I can't say I blame him. I'm unfriendly, and not particularly nice. And when he has pretty Merchant women swarming the bakery's doorstep just to try and flirt with him, there's really no reason he'd give me, Katniss Everdeen, a coal miner's daughter from the Seam who shows up with dead squirrels attached to her belt, the time of day.

"My father said I should be expecting you."

While Peeta works at the bakery just as much as his father, I still trade exclusively with Mr. Mellark. And the idea of Peeta handling this trade in particular has me feeling even more awkward than I already am. "Do you know when he'll be back?" I ask, shifting my hunting bag to the opposite shoulder, letting my eyes only catch his briefly before returning them to the flour-dusted wooden slats of the bakery's floor. I don't know how long I can stall, but I do know that it was hard enough to work up the courage to come to the bakery today and broach the subject of the trade I have in mind with Mr. Mellark, who's always been kind to me. So needless to say, the idea of talking toasting cakes with my old classmate Peeta Mellark has me positively squeamish.

"He's out for the day," Peeta says, looking at me curiously, a hint of a frown crossing his face. "But I have no problem trading with you, Katniss."

He thinks I'm worried he'll turn me in to the Peacekeepers or something. Well, that's ridiculous. Not even his witch of a mother would do that. My trades are too valuable.

Behind him in the next room, the women at the counter grow restless. I can see them craning their necks to watch us through the narrow doorway that leads to the kitchen, where we currently stand. One of them, Fresia Greenwood, even calls his name. She wants a half dozen oatmeal chocolate chip cookies for her quilting club this afternoon, and she _really needs to be on her way._

Peeta looks at me sheepishly, and scratches the back of his neck. "I'll, uh, be right back."

I frown. "Maybe I should just come back when your father's here."

"No," he says firmly. Then he laughs, nervously, and mostly to himself, like he's embarrassed by his insistence. "I know you've got pumpkin in that bag, and I need it to fill pie orders. Wait here. I'll just be a minute. Please?"

I think maybe I've insulted him by wanting to trade with only the senior Mellark, and I hadn't meant to do that, so I agree. Even though I really do have to get going soon—Gale will be waiting for me at the Hall of Justice. We have to apply for approval to get married. Although we won't have any problem. No one ever questions when two people from the Seam want to marry.

I shift my weight nervously, my mind racing until Peeta returns. I watch him serve Fresia, watch the exchange of a few coins for the cookies, and look away quickly when the women glance back toward me before they all leave. It's clear I've unwittingly made enemies. Though I'm not sure why. I'd much rather Peeta spend his time flirting with them than listening to the trade proposal I'm about to offer.

He returns, and his cheeks are slightly flushed as he wipes his hands on his white apron. "So, what do you have in that bag today?"

I spend five whole minutes going over my inventory of two squirrels, a couple of small pumpkins, a yellow gourd, and the last remnants of raspberries, which are shriveled and starting to brown but will probably still work for jams. And then I stall even further by using another couple of minutes telling Peeta that his father usually trades a raisin nut loaf per squirrel, and some wheat bread and a few cookies or a tart for the gourds. But once we settle today's trade—on the usual terms—I'm officially lingering awkwardly with a bag of bread in my arms that's making my mouth water. And I realize I'm being ridiculous. So I just do it.

Am I imagining things, or does Peeta Mellark's white-toothed, shining-eyed smile falter when I mumble something about wanting a cake for my toasting?

_And why was I so hesitant to tell him about it?_

He recovers by insisting the bakery gift us a cake for the occasion.

Now I'm even more mortified than I ever thought I could be. "No," I sputter. "Absolutely not."

His brow furrows. "Why not?"

_Why not?_ Doesn't he know I already owe him enough as it is? And that the last thing I need is to feel even more indebted to him? And doesn't he also know that the last thing he needs is another beating to the head? Which is what he'd probably get if he gave away a whole cake,of all things. Especially to a Seam girl like me.

I say none of this out loud and instead just shake my head and hold my ground. "No. I want an even trade."

"So what do you propose?" Peeta finally says.

A standard toasting cake goes for 25 coins. And a wild turkey fetches me at least 12 with Rooba the butcher, so as long as I can bring down two of them, it shouldn't be a problem. I tell Peeta this, and offer to throw in more pumpkin and even some of the maple syrup I'm about to tap, suggesting that's a fair deal. He's considering it when I realize I almost forgot the most important part. "And two squirrels, just for your father, as long as he decorates it with a few sugar flowers."

This makes Peeta grin widely.

"What?" I ask, frowning. It's a deal Mr. Mellark would never refuse. Maybe I _should_ have waited for him.

"I decorate the cakes, Katniss. So maybe you should reconsider my terms."

Peeta's laughing before I can think of any way to respond. "Relax, what you've proposed is more than a fair trade. So when's the big day?"

"Next month," I tell him, and I feel the blood rushing to my head. It sounds so soon when you say it out loud.

"Next month," Peeta repeats. "So we have some time."

"I…thought I should bring it up early. I know people don't usually trade for cakes."

"People usually don't show up here with dead animals and fresh produce either. So I think it's safe to say you're an exception." His eyes flit away from me, almost shyly, as he speaks, and it gives me a rush of memories I didn't even know I had of him doing this in the past. Like in history class, when my gaze fell to him by chance because he sat two rows in front of me. In the field behind the school, when he was on the opposing kickball team and it was my turn to kick. And at school assembly, when Mr. Canick forced me to sing in front of the whole school the year before we graduated. And here he is, doing it now, years later, while we're both grown adults in our twenties.

The look, and the timid smile Peeta's giving me, makes me feel like we're back in school and I'm sixteen again.

I'm about to smile back at him when the sound of Peeta's mother's shrill voice from the upstairs living quarters of the bakery interrupts us and makes us both freeze. She wants to know if his father's home yet.

"No, mom. I told you he's gone all day," he calls out to her. His looks embarrassed.

"I should go," I whisper.

And Peeta doesn't protest, so I leave.

***

The next time I come in to trade, the following Thursday afternoon, it's Mr. Mellark who greets me at the back door. He's genuinely happy to see me, and his smile's contagious, but I feel guilty because I'm strangely disappointed it's not Peeta I'll be trading with today. A quick scan of the inside of the bakery tells me he's not even around.

"I hear congratulations are in order, young lady."

I blush. "Peeta told you."

"It's not every day your favorite huntress has a toasting," he nods with another smile. "What you wanted to trade is too much. One turkey, two squirrels, and some maple syrup is more than fair."

It's not fair at all; it's too generous, and we both know it. But it's more difficult for me to fight with the elder Mellark about it. It seems disrespectful. So instead I just smile again, and dump half the contents of my bag out on his table for him to take inventory. "I have apples today."

"Just in time for me to make apple fritters then," he says, picking one up and handling it. They're not the freshest, but the trees are just about done producing them, so we both know enough to take what we can get. Same goes for the grapes in my bag, but I'm saving those for Ripper, who will be able to make wine with them in time for the Harvest Festival a couple of weeks from now.

The baker offers me two loaves of sourdough for the apples, and a couple of cupcakes for the squirrel I shot just for him, and I accept his trade readily. The cupcakes will make me a hero at dinner at the Hawthorne household tonight.

After our trade is complete, I head out of town and toward the Hob. I'm planning on giving Ripper the grapes, and saving the few coins she'll pay me for them for a toasting day gift for Gale. I've somehow swindled the town's cobbler into giving me a great deal on a refurbished pair of boots, which Gale desperately needs before winter hits. I've also got two more squirrels and some squash for Greasy Sae, and her stand is where I find Gale waiting for me. He's just finished his shift in the mines, and he's a filthy mess, so he fits right in with the others frequenting the Hob.

Gale greets me with little fanfare, just a smile and a hello. "Good hunt this morning?" he asks as I slide onto the stool at Sae's counter next to him. Two of Gale's mining friends, Thom, and Bristol, are with him. Bristol's a female, who I get along with all right, though I think she resents me for not being one of the other Seam women who went to work in the mines. I always expected I'd have to be one of them myself, but the truth of the matter is, I'd never make it down there. Just the thought of going near the mines gives me cold sweats and makes me nauseous. I think most others understand why I'm so afraid of them, and besides, without having to spend six days in the mines, I have plenty of time to hunt and forage in the woods, which probably provides for my family better than any coal miner's salary. I nod a hello to the both of them, who do the same and then re-busy themselves with their meals.

"Good enough," I say with a shrug and call out a hello to Sae, who goes to work scooping me a bowl of her current concoction when she realizes I'm there. When she places the bowl in front of me, I bite back a laugh. Squirrel stew. "Got more where that came from," I tell her with a smile, patting my bag. She smiles and nods, then tells me to eat up. It's not her best stuff, but it's hot, and I can see chunks of potatoes and carrots floating around with the mealy squirrel meat, so it'll make a better lunch than most others in the district will eat today. "Oh," I tell Gale excitedly, remembering what else is in my bag. "And I stopped at the bakery and picked up some dessert for dinner tonight."

He raises an eyebrow as I scoop a spoonful of stew into my mouth, being sure to blow on it to cool it down before I do. "You've always gotten better trades at the bakery than I ever did." He acts like it's some sort of conspiracy, and whether or not it's true, surely Gale can't be upset that the baker always gives me a good deal. Especially when those deals help feed our families. I just shrug and spoon another bite into my mouth. "How were the mines today?" I ask, my mouth full of stew.

Gale barely bothers to answer me, telling me they were the same as always, turning his attention to his own bowl of stew. He doesn't like talking about his work in the mines. Honestly, I don't even know why I asked him. I hate even thinking about him being a mile down in the ground all day, so I certainly don't like him talking about it. So instead we eat in a not uncomfortable silence, and I let my attention drift to the hustle and bustle of the Hob. It's nothing out of the ordinary, just a bunch of people trading scrap metal parts for thread or bits of fabric, or buying or attempting to trade for the meat Rooba wouldn't take and Sae didn't have a use for.

So when he walks in, his angelic hair and fair complexion looking strikingly out of place in a black market, he's impossible to miss.

I watch him make his way to Ripper's stand, and I immediately frown. I never took Peeta to be a drinker. Especially not the white liquor I can see him purchasing—two gallon-sized bottles worth. I've had it once, a few nights before Madge's toasting last spring, and it's horrible. It burns your insides and makes you crazy.

Gale notices me watching him. "I think he's buying it for his mother," he tells me quietly, leaning into my ear. I give him a strange look. "I've heard she's been drinking ever since the middle Mellark brother died."

My eyes are still on Peeta, who's talking quietly with Ripper, who never smiles, but for one reason or another, she manages to give one to Peeta. I slurp my squirrel stew and don't say anything. It makes sense, I guess, that Mrs. Mellark is a drunk. It explains her mean streak, and her rage, at least. Though she's always been like that, for as long as I can remember. It makes me wonder if the alcohol just makes her that much worse now. An overwhelming sense of sadness comes over me. I've always thought living above the bakery would be an ideal situation what with all of the bread at your disposal, but in reality, it must be a tough place to live.

Gale finishes the last of his stew and stands up, pushing his stool back underneath the counter. I finally pull my eyes from Peeta back to him, undeniably handsome even covered in coal soot. "I've got a meeting before dinner. See you back at the house?"

Gale and his meetings. He has them once a week, always at an undisclosed location—or at least it's undisclosed to me—and never on the same day or time. He never tells me what goes on at them except to say it's better that I don't know. I never have the energy to fight him about it, and I'm certainly not the boss of him—just as he's not the boss of me—so I just shrug.

He frowns when he notices I look disappointed, and takes my hand and squeezes it. "Sorry to run out on you."

"It's fine," I tell him, shaking my head. "Gives me a chance to catch up with Sae and what she's got planned for the menu the rest of the week."

Gale glances down at my bag. "Bet it's squirrel."

I manage a smile. "See you later."

He leaves, Thom and Bristel following behind him, leaving me alone at Sae's counter, which is no skin off my back. With Gale gone for the afternoon, and Prim at her knitting club, I'm on my own for a few hours. And since I don't want to go home and spend some quality time with my mother, I should find a way to keep myself occupied.

That's when I look up to see Peeta Mellark's eyes on me. He looks away quickly when he sees me notice him, but I watch him hesitate, and then look back to me. I wave. He smiles and waves back. And then I surprise both of us by calling him over. He pauses, probably shocked because we both know I'm never this friendly, but then walks the few yards it takes to join me. And technically Sae too, but she's busy stirring the stew.

"Hi," he says, looking uncomfortable holding those big bottles of white liquor.

"Hey," I tell him, eyeing him up and down. I'm used to seeing him in his normal bakery attire of a white shirt and apron. Right now, he's wearing dark pants—I think they're corduroy—and I can see he has a buttoned shirt on under the light cotton jacket he's wearing to fight the chill in the air. "Didn't expect to see you here."

He half smiles, half laughs. "Yeah, well, I can't say the same about you."

I don't know why, but I blush. And either the cold air is flushing Peeta's cheeks, or he's blushing too.

"Are you hungry? Sae's got the best squirrel stew in town." I nod toward the stool next to me, the one Gale was just occupying.

Peeta furrows his brow, frowning as he looks down at the bottles in his hands. "I should probably be getting back—"

"Nonsense. You must be new here. No one leaves the Hob without going through me first." Sae cuts Peeta off, forcing his hand by placing a steaming bowl of stew in the spot Gale left behind. I grin, and she winks. "On the house since you seem to know my favorite girl."

"You don't have to do that—" Peeta begins to proclaim, and now it's my turn to cut him off.

"Don't bother. You can't say no to Sae."

And so Peeta sits. And eats. I don't know how much he appreciates me calling him over—he probably didn't want me seeing him buying illegal liquor—but he's polite and thanks Sae all the same.

"So what do you think?" I ask, after Sae walks away from the counter.

Peeta swallows another bite and wrinkles his nose. "I don't like squirrel as much as my father does."

I laugh. Peeta does too. "Well, you'll have to come back when she has chicken available. She makes a great noodle soup with it."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind."

We go back to our bowls, nearly finishing them off before Peeta speaks again. "So how are the toasting plans coming along?"

I tense. And shove my mouth full of stew so I don't have to answer right away. "They're fine," I finally shrug, wiping my mouth with my shirtsleeve. "Not much to report, really."

"Do you have a house lined up yet?"

In town, it's customary for Merchants to find their own housing once they're married. Typically, they're no longer welcome in their parents' homes. It makes sense, giving the newlyweds their own space to start their own families. But this isn't necessarily true in the Seam, where multiple generations of families can share tiny two-room shacks because they can't afford anything more. Luckily, Gale and I are better off than most.

"There's a small house on Second Street," I answer quietly. "I think that's where we'll most likely end up." I don't mention that the house is now available because the older man who lived there died of dysentery last week. Or that Gale paid off the housing official at the hall of justice to keep it open for us until we're officially married and ready to move in. I drop my spoon into my bowl, officially done with my meal. "What about you?" I ask, looking to Peeta. He seems surprised by my question.

"Are you asking if I'm planning a toasting and moving out of the bakery's quarters?" He finishes his soup too, and I watch him place his spoon down carefully next to his bowl. There's a slight redness to the tips of his ears that makes me think I've embarrassed him. I didn't mean to—it was a legitimate question. Except for what I learned a long time ago about Peeta Mellark, I don't know all that much about him.

"Yes," I say, feeling embarrassed myself now for asking.

Peeta laughs and shakes his head. "No. At least, not yet."

"Oh," is all I manage to say. I don't know what to make of his answer. He smiles, and when his eyes land on me, they sparkle with an unexpected playfulness. My cheeks feel hot, and I'm pretty sure I'm blushing now.

"I, uh, have to get going," he says, and pushes himself off his stool. "But thanks for the stew."

"Sure," I murmur, watching him turn and thank Sae too. He retrieves the liquor bottles from where he'd stored them at his feet, nodding at me when he's all set. "I'll see you around, Katniss."

"Bye," I tell him, offering him a small smile. He leaves, and I don't take my eyes off of him until he's out of my sightline.

When I look back at Sae, she's got a smirk on her face and an eyebrow cocked at me. "So. That's the baker's youngest boy?"

"Yeah," I tell her, narrowing my brow and feeling unusually defensive. "Peeta."

"He seems nice," is all she says.

"He is," I agree.

"So. What do you have for me in that bag, girl?"

I smile, letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding, happy to return to normal conversation with Sae.

***

Sundays are always spent with Gale in the woods. It's the day no one works in the mines, and it's been our routine since he turned eighteen and was no longer able to go every day before school. It's my favorite part of the week, and this Sunday is no different. In fact, today is better than most, because the late October air holds a chill that's refreshing but not freezing, and the leaves have changed to bright oranges and reds and yellows, making the woods especially beautiful.

My afternoon is spent tapping maple trees because the early freeze two nights ago combined with the currently brightly shining sun makes for perfect harvesting conditions, and the trees are producing nicely. If I wasn't worried about carrying all of our loot back, I'm pretty sure I could harvest gallons of the stuff.

Gale and I spent the morning hunting, and have a pair of wild geese to show for it. While I've been busy collecting sap, Gale's been checking his snare lines. He returns about an hour later, victoriously holding a rabbit. I grin at him as the sweet, sticky liquid continues to run from my spile into my collection bucket. "We should call it a day soon," I tell him. "If we stay out here any longer, we'll have to leave some behind."

Gale smiles too, a rare, lighthearted smile, as he places the rabbit with the rest of our kills. "You're right," he agrees. We both know how horrifying the idea of wasting perfectly good food is. "But first, I got you something."

I look at him curiously, and he's still smiling as he motions for me to join him on the rock we always sit on, the one overlooking the valley, our usual meeting spot and where we spend time eating packed lunches or newly harvested snacks while we talk about the things we can't mention back home. I leave the maple tree, figuring the sap will fall into the bucket all on its own anyway, and he waits until I sit beside him before he pulls a tiny, cloth-wrapped package from his pocket. My jaw drops when he unveils its contents. Chocolate. Two fairly large, perfectly square pieces, smooth to the touch and even embossed with a chocolatier's emblem—in particular, a bird of some sort. Gale's still smiling, proudly, at my reaction when I look up at him.

"It only cost me an extra shift in the mines," he tells me instantly, before I can even ask where he got something so exotic. "Thom bought some from Darius, who brought some back from his Peacekeeper training trip to the Capitol. And I couldn't pass up his offer to trade."

Gale must have made the deal at his meeting last night. But I'm too excited about the chocolate's presence to care about the details of its procurement, and I barely register what he's saying. Something about there not being enough to share with the family, so we need to eat it here, in the woods. Selfishly, I don't object, and I push thoughts of how Prim would react to the sight of chocolate to the back of my mind.

I take my piece from Gale carefully, slowly placing it in my mouth. It's just as rich and decadent as I expect it to be, and it feels like velvet in my mouth. I've only had chocolate, real, milk chocolate, a few times before, because it's impossible to get. Even the bakery, the most likely place to find sweets in Twelve, uses cocoa powder. And only sparingly—chocolate icing is far more costly than vanilla or strawberry. I nibble it slowly, taking the tiniest bites I can manage, as I look out over the valley below us. It's stunning, the leaves just starting to fall from the trees, creating pops of brown in the rainbow of leaves. Though the sun's position in the sky suggests nightfall will begin within an hour or so, and as much as I'd like to stay here with Gale, we really do have to start heading back soon.

Gale talks as I eat, having finished his treat in no more than a couple of bites. I know there are things he has to get off his chest before he returns to the District and the mines for another week, so I let him vent. Sometimes there are things we can only say in the woods.

"Jeorge Abbott's daughter died the other day." I stop chewing, and turn to look at Gale, frowning at the news. Jeorge works Gale's shift in the mines. He's much older than us, and has a large family. His eldest, Janick, is Prim's age. "She was twelve. And she caught pneumonia and died. Because she wasn't strong enough to fight it."

When I don't— _can't_ —respond, Gale shakes his head, a familiar hardness returning to his face. "Kids are dying, for no other reason than they don't have enough to eat or enough clothing on their backs. They're not just killing them in the Games, Katniss."

"We should prepare a meal, or a care package for them," I say quietly, hanging my head. He's right, news like this is all too frequent, especially as we approach the winter months, in our District. And the Capitol doesn't care how many of us can't survive on scraps.

"How are we supposed to raise families in this place? We have to change things. No one should be forced to live like this."

I sigh. _Here we go again._ "Well, we're not having kids, so at least we don't have to worry about that." I don't mean what I say to be callous; it's just that sometimes Gale needs a verbal reminder. _No kids. Not ever._ Exactly for reasons like Jeorge Abbott's daughter dying of pneumonia. Or the sixteen-year-old Seam boy and the seventeen-year-old Merchant girl who both died a few months ago in this year's Games. This world is too cruel for children.

Gale looks at me sadly. "Yeah, okay Katniss."

"I'm serious, Gale! We've talked about this!" Sometimes I'm convinced Gale thinks I'll change my mind. Like ten years of friendship that turned into courtship hasn't been enough for him to realize how stubborn I am.

"What if things were different?"

"Well, they're not."

"But if they were." His gray eyes reflect intensity he saves for his most important points, and it makes me worry. What is he talking about? We'll always have to illegally kill our own food, just to put enough on the table. And we'll always be luckier than most that we're able to do even that. And we'll always spend our summers watching children die at the hands of the Capitol.

"Nothing will ever change," I tell him, feeling an anger bubble up inside of me. Not every moment has to be dedicated to radical thoughts of justice and equality and…rebellion. And he's ruining a perfectly nice, peaceful afternoon.

"Not unless we finally do something about it," Gale retorts.

"Gale," I hiss, lowering my voice as if we can be overheard. Though who knows—with the Capitol's technologies, maybe we can be. "You can't talk like this." He should know better; not even the woods are safe enough for this kind of talk.

Gale gives up then, shaking his head like he's disappointed with me. Which is fine by me, because I'm pretty furious at him myself. We make the walk back to town in silence, and I don't eat the rest of my chocolate out of defiance, deciding to share it with Prim after all. I'm not even sure Gale notices. He's too busy trying to get himself killed with his big mouth. When we reach the fence, we part ways. I take the spoils of our hunt with me, because I'm responsible for trading them in the morning, and head home. Gale heads off somewhere, his destination unknown to me, because I don't ask, and he doesn't tell. Frankly, I don't care where he's going.


	2. Chapter 2

I return home to find Peeta Mellark in my kitchen.

With a burned foot. From what I can tell, a pretty badly burned foot too. He's here for salve from my mother. And even though the town's apothecary is practically next door to the bakery, I can't say I blame him. Plenty of townspeople choose my mother and her healing powers over the family who took over the apothecary after her parents died. She's ten times better than them.

So there Peeta sits, in our tiny kitchen, his left leg propped up on our table, his pants rolled up to his knee. Even from a distance, the singed, red, almost purple, skin of his shin and top of his foot makes me cringe. But Peeta actually smiles when he sees me, as I drop my hunting bag near the back door and remove my boots and coat. "Hey, Katniss," he greets me cheerily, as if nothing's wrong at all.

"What happened?" I ask, bewildered and concerned. All of a sudden, the fight I've just had is pushed to the back of my mind, the immediacy of making sure Peeta's okay taking over.

"I'm fine," he assures me, and I look on skeptically as my mother rubs a blue-tinged salve all over the bottom half of his leg. He winces, and then relaxes, as the ingredients must help cool his burns almost instantly. "It's just a routine bakery burn."

"He really should be okay within a week or two," my mother chimes in, not bothering to look up from her work. "The damage looks pretty superficial."

"You should see the other guy," he tells me, managing another grin. "Splattered all over the floor."

My mother, yes my _mother_ , actually laughs, like they're having a grand old time. I stand there, gaping at all of it. "Wh—what happened?"

"I dropped a tray of cookies taking them out of the oven. And I was too clumsy to get my foot out of the way in time."

"Katniss, why don't you get Peeta a glass of water?" My mother looks up at me as she reaches for her healing box, pulling out a clean set of bandages.

I oblige, even though Peeta insists that's not necessary. I set the glass in front of him, and watch him take a sip, before I bombard him with more questions. "And you walked all the way here? By yourself? Are you crazy?"

Peeta laughs, though I notice his face contort while lifting his leg up from the table as my mother instructs so she can wrap his leg. "Yes, yes, and maybe."

I shake my head at him, wondering how he can be so nonchalant about it all.

"Don't you have something you can give him for the pain?" I ask my mother, finally sliding down into one of the mismatched wooden chairs at the table between the two of them. My mother shoots me a stern look. Pain medication is hard to come by, and it's only to be saved for the most serious cases brought to her doorstep.

"It's okay," Peeta answers me instead. "Your mother's doing a wonderful job, Katniss. I already feel almost as good as new."

His colorless face and trace of a grimace he's trying to hide suggest otherwise, but I give up fighting him. I sigh and look around our home, lit by oil lamps and a fire going in the hearth. It's meant to cook the dinner I've brought back for us, now surely on a delay with the unexpected patient my mother's treating.

"Where's Prim?" I ask, finally noticing her absence.

"At the Hawthorne's, helping Posy with her homework," my mother answers, not looking up from her task of carefully tucking Peeta's bandages so they stay put. "How does that feel?" she asks him.

Peeta nods. "Just great."

She shakes her head at him, smiling again. _What has gotten into my mother?_ "You're lying, but I'm afraid that's the best I can do for you." Then she tells him to make sure he keeps his leg elevated as much as possible for the next few days, because it will help with the swelling. And if the bandages begin to turn yellow, he's to report back to her immediately.

"Thank you, Mrs. Everdeen. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this. You work wonders."

My mother smiles. "It's not a problem at all. By the way, please say hello to your father for me."

I try not to show my surprise or confusion. I didn't know my mother knew Peeta's father. I suppose it makes sense, given that my mother grew up in town, but it seems so strange, linking the baker with my mother. She's never mentioned it before.

"Of course," Peeta agrees, lowering his leg from the table and placing his foot gingerly on the floor. With the bandaging, there's no way he'll be able to put his shoe back on. When he realizes this, he simply holds it in his hands and begins to push himself up from the chair. I rush to stand and help him, and he gratefully, if not sheepishly, accepts the arm I lend him to steady himself. "Please tell me what I owe you," Peeta says to my mother as his forearm rests on my shoulder. He's sturdy enough even on one leg that he barely has to lean on me.

"Absolutely not," my mother insists, and I can tell by her expression she isn't joking. Usually, she'll accept payment from those who she knows can afford it, but apparently, Peeta's the exception. Then, before he can even attempt to protest, she looks to me. "Katniss, will you help him get home? I still can't believe he came the whole way here by himself."

"Mrs. Everdeen, that's not neces—"

"—Okay."

Peeta looks to me, his blue eyes considering me curiously, but he withdraws his protest when I readily agree. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," I repeat, wondering where this lump in my throat came from and swallowing it forcefully. "I mean, look at you. You can barely walk."

It's a relatively long walk into town even with two good legs. With Peeta, the trek takes three times as long. I can tell he's cringing and wincing the whole way, even though he's trying not to let me see. The night air is dropping in temperature steadily, but with my hunting jacket, and with Peeta half-leaning on me as we go, all I feel is warm. There are a few brave souls taking in the cold, fresh air on their stoops tonight, and as we pass them, I can practically feel their eyes taking in the blond haired, blue-eyed Merchant class man walking—well, hobbling—past them. I wonder if I should care what they think, and if they're wondering what I'm doing with him, but I don't. I'm more concerned with making sure Peeta's okay.

We make it about halfway down the path back to town, out of sight from anyone and with only the moonlight to guide us, when I ask him if he needs a break for what's probably the tenth time. Finally, Peeta laughs.

"You really need to stop asking me how I'm doing, Katniss. I've been burned before. This isn't that bad."

A few minutes later, I finally work up the courage to bring up the topic that's been gnawing at me. "I didn't know my mother knew your father."

Peeta's eyes go wide, and he stops, holding my shoulder for balance as he turns to look at me. "You've never heard their story?"

I wasn't even aware they had a story, so no, I haven't heard it. When I tell Peeta as such, he looks around until he takes note of a large oak tree log just off the path to our left, and suggests that maybe we should take that break I've been bugging him about.

It takes a moment for us to get settled, and I make Peeta prop his leg on my lap, and if the lighting were better, I'd swear he rolls his eyes as he obliges me. "I can't believe you don't know this," Peeta begins, like we're two old friends catching up. "Before your father, your mother was engaged to my dad."

My jaw drops, and he nods, understanding my shock. "I know, it's crazy. But they grew up next door to one another, and were sweethearts in school. Apparently, both our grandparents highly approved. But then your father came along, and I guess he swept your mom right off her feet, with his charm, and his good looks, and a voice that made the birds stop chirping when he sang."

I stare at Peeta in disbelief. "You're making that up," I exclaim, putting my hand to my mouth.

"No," Peeta insists, shaking his head with determination. "Listen. My father told me so, on the first day of school. He pointed you out to me, and said 'Do you see that little girl over there? I almost married her mother.' And of course, being all of five, I couldn't believe anyone wouldn't want to marry my father, considering all the cookies he had the ability to give someone, and when I asked, he told me how she married your dad, the coal miner, instead."

"I—I can't believe it," I sputter, my head reeling. There's too much truth in what Peeta's saying for it to be a lie—my father did sweep my mother off her feet, and he did have a voice that made everyone, not just the birds, fall silent, but I guess I've only ever heard half the story.

Peeta nods, then pauses. "Can I tell you something else?" I shrug, still too stunned to do much else. "I think my father still wishes he'd married your mother."

A lot of things click for me in that moment. Mrs. Mellark's mean streak. The baker's kindness. My mother avoiding going into town at all costs. And while it all makes sense, it also feels all wrong. This is the sort of thing people aren't supposed to talk about. You marry who you marry, and that's that. And if you're lucky, you get along just fine and help support one another. And if you're really lucky, there's love. But if you're _really, really_ lucky? Well, then, you're my parents. They were the very definition of head over heels, completely, and madly in love. But that's the kind of love that can also ruin you. It's the dangerous kind.

"You shouldn't say that," I tell him.

"Can you blame him though?" Peeta says, the corners of his lips upturning into a crooked smile. "The Everdeen women are some of the prettiest in the district."

My stomach flip-flops at his words, but I wave him off. "You must be delirious with pain. In fact, we should get you home before you pass out."

Peeta laughs, "I said I'm fine." He begins to say something, and then stops himself, looking down into his lap instead. After a moment, he regains his composure. "So. The toasting's in two weeks, right?"

"Yeah," I say, suppressing a frown when I remember that Gale and I aren't exactly talking at the moment.

"Are you excited?"

"Of course," I tell him, even though it might be a lie. It's not that I don't want to marry Gale, exactly, because I'd always assumed we'd end up together one day anyway, it's just that I don't really care for the publicity of it all. I prefer to fly under the radar. "But what about you?" I ask, eager to change the subject. "There really isn't anyone that you plan on…marrying?"

Peeta half snorts, half chuckles, and he smiles ruefully. "No one at the moment. At least, no one I stand a chance with."

I make a face. "That's not true. All the women love you. They practically throw themselves at you at the bakery. And you were always one of the most popular boys with the girls at school."

"What do you know about me and the girls at school?" He's smirking now.

"Not much," I concede. It's true, Peeta and I never talked. And I wasn't friends with many girls at school either. "But it seemed like you were always surrounded by them."

"I'm surprised you even knew who I was."

I give him a funny look. "Of course I knew. How could I forget?"

He realizes I'm talking about the bread now, because the smirk falls from his face and he's studying me carefully. His gaze, and the moment, one I should have taken a long, long time ago, are overwhelming, and I have to look down to the ground. There are dead leaves at my feet that I crunch beneath my boots as I talk. "I, uh, never…properly thanked you for that, by the way. For the bread."

"Katniss," I hear him say softly, still not looking up from my boots, or the leaves that I'm turning into bits. "Please don't thank me for that. I wish I could have done so much more." His hand brushes against mine, and I realize he's reaching for it, to take it in his. My skin prickles at his touch, and I feel it immediately. Peeta must too, because both of us tense, as if there's a current of electricity running between us. But I don't let go. His palm encircles mine, and despite the cold, his hand feels hot, and slightly clammy. Unbothered, I slide my fingers through his and hold on tightly. I'm not sure what's happening any more, but all I know is that I don't want to let go.

"Is this okay?" Peeta's question forces me to look at him. That's when I notice how clear his eyes are, even in the darkness of night, and how the moonlight makes his hair glow almost silver, giving him a sort of ethereal presence. It's strange, how calm I feel right now.

It's probably not okay. But I'm finding myself wanting to be around Peeta regardless. It's a scary, but exciting, feeling.

"Yes," I whisper.

He considers me for a long moment, like he's not so sure. He swallows, and I watch his Adam's Apple bob as he does. "Then when can I see you again?"

My heart stops, and when it comes back to life, it pounds against my chest like a drum. I lied. This isn't okay at all.

Peeta must recognize the terror on my face because he looks equally mortified. He laughs a nervous and disjointed laugh. "What I meant was, when are you planning on coming by the bakery next? Because I definitely owe your mother a batch of cookies to thank her for tonight."

Now Peeta's lying too. But it's easier to pretend. And to ignore the spark between us.

The last thing I'd want is for it to catch fire.

***

That night, in bed with Prim, she waits until I'm almost asleep to ask me about him. "Mom says Peeta Mellark was here tonight. And that he burned his leg and you walked him home."

"Yeah? So?" I mumble, burying my face in my pillow.

"Is he okay?"

"He'll be fine."

After a moment, I hear her sigh. "I feel bad for him."

That officially piques my interest. I roll over to face her, propping myself up on an elbow. Even though she's an adult now, she still looks so child-like to me, with her tiny, frail frame and two yellow braids she has pinned to the top of her head to keep her hair neat for sleeping. "Why?"

Prim furrows her brow. "You have to know he liked you, Katniss. For all those years, it was so obvious." Her voice is below a whisper, because we don't want to wake our mother, but it's clear she's serious.

I roll my eyes. "You're crazy."

"You've never cared about liking boys and wanting love and being romantic. You think you're above it," she tells me. "But just because you weren't paying attention doesn't mean the rest of us weren't."

"What are you talking about?" I hiss. I know I have to keep my voice down, but I'm so confused, and a little panicked, and also curious, that I can't help but raise it.

She sighs again. I can't tell if she's frustrated, disappointed, or sad. She may be all three. "Peeta Mellark has had a crush on you for forever." I open my mouth to protest, but she holds up her hand to stop me and continues on with her insane theories. "And now he has to watch you marry Gale, who you're marrying not because you love him, but because you think it's a smart decision. So I feel bad for him."

"That's not true!" I'm actually almost yelling now, the anger bubbling up inside of me and taking over my consideration for my mother's sleep. She stirs in her sleep from across the room but doesn't wake. I look back to Prim and use my harshest whisper. "Where is all this coming from?"

Prim smiles sadly at me. "I've kept my opinions to myself for a while now. But I went to the Hob to trade Lady's milk with Greasy Sae the other day. She mentioned you were here with Peeta a few days ago, and that he made you laugh. And I couldn't help but wonder when the last time was that I saw you laughing with Gale."

Prim's words are absolutely horrifying. I want to scream. And possibly cry. I want to tell Prim that she's wrong, dead wrong. That she's crazy for thinking Peeta Mellark has a crush on me. And that Gale and I laugh all the time. Most of all, I want to answer her question. But I can't. Because the truth is, I can't remember the last time Gale and I laughed together.

And the other truth is that I don't think I want her to be wrong about Peeta Mellark.

***

Gale and I are back to normal in a couple of days. It helps that it's Harvest Festival week, and the District is in a generally good mood, each day bringing a little bit more food than the last. By Saturday, the festival's last day, we both even pledge to have some fun. While I'm excited for a party and a full belly just like everyone else, I also take the all-district event as an opportunity to make sure that anyone who might be questioning me knows that I'm happy with Gale.

Prim and I get ready for the party together. She insists I wear my hair down, and I don't fight her. Prim wears a pretty navy blue wool dress with lace sleeves, a dress she made herself from fabric I got her for New Year's last year. I don't own many dresses—I don't have much use for them, other than days like today—but I do have a simple sweater dress, with a scooped neck, and belled sleeves, and I let Prim convince me its burnt orange color is not only perfect for tonight but will also look nice against my complexion. Paired with my nicest brown tall boots and thick tights to match, it's not a terrible ensemble. Prim also gets to me with her small makeup collection, and I let her "practice" putting a few swipes of it on my face for next weekend.

When Gale arrives at six o'clock with Rory, his younger brother who's escorting Prim, he grins when he sees me. He's dressed up for the occasion too, and he looks as handsome as ever in a clean, crisp blue cotton shirt he only wears on holidays, with a fresh shave and his hair combed neatly. I smile too, not because I feel Prim's eyes on us, but because I want to. Gale looks happy, and he so rarely looks happy these days. Tonight's going to be a good night.

We make the walk to town just after sunset, grateful that the chill in the air is manageable with just our coats and that it's not pouring down rain, like it was on this day last year. As we approach, the smells hit me first. A woodsy, smoky scent from the bonfires waft together with the tempting odors of roast duck and the sweet scent of cinnamon and apple used to make hot cider. The sight of so much food and drink is pretty overwhelming too, and I can't help but grin as I watch a group of young children pass us, excitedly sucking on sugar maple candies that were made from the sap I collected. Gale watches them too, and squeezes my hand in his, smiling at me as we officially enter the party.

The Festival takes place on the town's square, and like always, there's a makeshift dance floor constructed right in the middle. A bunch of tables encircle it, filled with different types of foods and drinks—beef stew, chicken noodle casserole, turkey in cranberry sauce, spiced mulled wine. And there's a small band, made up of coal miners and merchants alike, who play everything from the fiddle to the tambourine to their wife's washboard. Everywhere around us, people are smiling and dancing, laughing and eating. As a district, we're almost unrecognizable.

The four of us spend the first hour of the festival tasting as much food as we can. Prim likes the candied yams, Gale and Rory predictably claim their mother's pork and rice is best, and I'm partial to the mini cheese buns the baker's provided. After a while, Prim and I dance when the boys refuse. She laughs as I spin her around, avoiding loving couples and children, and we dance until we're hungry again. And then we go back for seconds.

I pay no attention to the fact that Peeta Mellark is also here—as was to be expected, _everyone's_ here—and pretend not to notice the glances I catch him giving me when I'm stealing glances his way too. He looks handsome tonight in a forest green wool sweater and thick, khaki colored cotton pants, a bright smile permanently on his face as he laughs and jokes with the company he's keeping. Who, so far, have been his father, his brother, Madge, Delly Cartwright and her husband Jackson Brownlow. Even when his father comes up to Gale and I to officially congratulate us, Peeta keeps his distance, conveniently getting a cider refill on the opposite side of the square.

When the band strikes up again after a break, Gale suggests we dance. And Rory and Prim take that as their opportunity to tells us they're leaving us to head to a party back in the Seam, though the nervous yet excited smile on Prim's face makes me think they're lying and are really sneaking off to someplace private to be alone. I still haven't wrapped my head around the idea of Prim and Rory. Not that she's said one word to me to make me think they're dating, or that they even like one another. But a big sister just knows these things. And so I play dumb and let her think I think she's going to a get together in the Seam. And then we say goodbye, and Gale and I make a go of it on the dance floor.

For as surefooted as we both are out in the woods, you'd think we'd be able to keep a decent rhythm. But we're terrible, and it's almost funny how poorly we dance together. When I step on his toes for the third time in one song, we both burst out laughing.

"That one hurt!" he's exclaiming over the lively, folksy music, while I try to regain my composure.

"I'm sorry!" I apologize, though I doubt Gale thinks my apology is sincere, since I'm still grinning. We start up again, Gale playfully eyeing me warily, and all I can think is that I wish Prim were witnessing this. See? We can laugh. We can have fun. We're not serious hunting partners all the time.

Yet I can't deny that when my hand is in his, it still feels like something's missing.

"Want to take a break?" Gale asks after our third song of narrow missteps and near misses. I nod, hot and thirsty, and I don't object when Gale suggests we try the mulled wine. There's a wait as we approach, and it's going to take a couple of minutes for us to receive drinks. I don't mind waiting, but my awareness of my surroundings is heightened when Madge and her husband—Bannon Mellark—join the line right behind Gale and I. I smile at Madge because she's one of the few women I'm friendly with, and I'm grateful that she only smiles back, meaning neither of us is forced to engage in small talk.

That all changes when Thom approaches Gale just as we're about to collect our cups of hot wine. Thom eyes me carefully, and then whispers something to Gale, causing the two of them to step aside. I watch, frowning. I don't have to hear their conversation to know what's going on. And as expected, when Gale takes the few steps back to me after a few more moments of speaking with Thom, he tells me he has to go. "I'm really sorry, Catnip. You know I wouldn't leave if it weren't important."

"I'll go with you," I tell him, knowing there's a challenge in the steel-eyed gaze I'm giving him. _Isn't this what he wants?_ For me to support whatever secretive, illegal agenda he's attempting to achieve?

He shakes his head. "I can't let you."

"Well good thing I don't need your permission," I respond, feeling my temper kick in. It never fails to find me.

"Katniss," Gale says sternly, his expression icily serious. "I'm not kidding around. I have to go. Now. You'll be okay getting home on your own?"

"She'll be just fine." Madge flips her long blond curls over her shoulder as she pipes up, staring at Gale. Then she turns to me. "Why don't we have some wine and catch up for a bit, Katniss? It's been so long since I've really gotten to see you."

She doesn't even allow me to say goodbye to Gale (not that I wanted to anyway) before she drags me toward the table and Ripper's nieces who are serving the hot, spiced wine in a mismatched collection of ceramic mugs. Madge shoves a mug into my hand before taking one for herself, and Bannon, too. I can feel Gale watching us momentarily, and I try not to be outwardly angry at him for deciding whatever stupidly dangerous meeting he thinks he needs to attend is more important than finally having a good time tonight, but then he leaves, surely muttering to himself under his breath, like he always does when he's frustrated with me.

I refuse to let it bother me. And instead of stalking off toward home, I decide it might not be so bad to talk with Madge, who's smiling kindly at me. To her credit, she doesn't ask, or even say a word, about what just happened between Gale and me. Instead, she asks me if I've tried the butternut squash soup yet. I almost laugh, because her ability to smooth over whatever tension was left behind is pretty impressive. I tell her I haven't, and Madge tells me I should, and then in the same breath she's exclaiming that Prim's grown up to be such a lovely girl over the past year.

I smile. Everyone loves Prim. I sip the mulled wine, and it's warm, and spicy, and a little bit sweet. And its calming effect is almost immediate. I glance at Bannon, who's a few years older than us, and he smiles at me. Despite the same blond hair and blue eyes, he really doesn't look much like his younger brother, who's currently across the dance floor, unsurprisingly surrounded by a group of women that includes his normal bakery crew. He's much taller, with a completely different build that's leaner to the point he's almost lanky. But Bannon's not unattractive, and when he smiles, his eyes do twinkle in a familiar way.

Madge tells me she likes my dress, then, and I can't help but think she's just being nice, with the beautiful cream-colored curve-hugging dress she's wearing that surely came from the Capitol, right along with her perfectly oiled knee-high leather boots. But I thank her and tell her she looks stunning, and she waves me off. "Anyway, you know who looks absolutely hideous tonight? Fresia Greenwood. What is that awful purple thing she's wearing?"

Now I'm forced to look in Peeta's direction, because Fresia happens to be standing right next to him. In an awful purple thing—Madge wasn't kidding. It looks like it's made of velvet, with sleeves that fall past her wrists, and a hem that's trimmed with exorbitant lace. It's clear she's dressed to impress, in what's probably a custom-made dress, it's just that I'm not sure what impression she's trying to make. Madge's eyes widen with amusement as I hide my snicker behind my mug.

"See?" she says to Bannon. "Katniss agrees with me."

"Well then you both need to be nicer," is all he says in response.

"Why?" Madge asks, after a big sip of wine. "When was the last time she was nice to anyone but your brother?" I tense at just the mention of Peeta, and try not to show any reaction. "Speaking of which, we should probably save him, right?" Madge is still staring off in Peeta's direction, watching him interact with the group of women. He smiling tightly, listening to whatever Rosa Freebairn and her big, pouty lips are saying, until he glances in our direction, notices the attention we're paying him, and stands up a little straighter and smiles a little brighter.

"He looks fine to me," Bannon shrugs, rolling his eyes, as if "saving" Peeta is something she tries to do too often. But Madge barely lets him finish his sentence before she's loudly calling Peeta's name. I'm busy gulping my wine now, as Peeta now looks to our group, confused. Bannon scolds Madge for it, but she just looks at me with a knowing look. "I'm doing him a favor. The last thing Peeta wants to be doing right now is talking to Fresia Greenwood and friends."

I raise an eyebrow, and we all watch as Peeta excuses himself, making his way over to us as quickly as he can since he's still sporting quite a limp. His eyes fall on me, and I can't help but exchange a small smile with him before he turns his attention to Madge with a grateful expression.

"Thank you," he says, exhaling a breath. "I was trapped over there."

Madge grins, looking triumphant, and Bannon drops his head, shaking it as I let out a laugh.

"What's so funny?" Peeta asks.

"My wife seems adamant about making sure you stay single," Bannon rolls his eyes.

"Quite the opposite, actually," Madge corrects him. "I'm helping him find the right girl by making sure he doesn't waste his time with useless, overbearing ones."

"By forcing him to socialize with married and almost married people?"

"You know I'm right here, right? I can hear you. I can also choose my own company. And with the exception of Katniss over here, I can't say I'm enjoying mine right now." Peeta grins at me, that sparkle returning in his eyes.

Madge laughs, telling him if that's really the case, then he can go back to Fresia and Rosa and Madeline any time he wants. I, however, have another idea.

"Why don't we get you something to drink?"

Peeta's quick to take me up on my offer.

"You're popular tonight," I tell him when it's just the two of us standing back in the mulled wine line.

Peeta makes a face. "They're relatively harmless, but boy, can they talk." Then he looks at me. "Gale left?"

I sink my teeth into the corner of my bottom lip. "Yeah."

"That's too bad," he murmurs absently as he receives his wine. I take the opportunity to get a refill, and sip it, contemplating whether it's really so bad. I seem to be enjoying myself just fine without him.

We close down the Harvest Festival. The four of us find an open table, and drink, and talk, and the conversation comes naturally, as does the laughter. Other people come and go from the group—Darius stops to say hello to me; Mr. Undersee spends a few minutes talking to all of us—but Peeta never leaves the seat next to mine.

We're all deciding to call it a night when Peeta turns to me.

"I should walk you home. It's late." It's a perfectly innocent offer, or so it would seem to anyone without insider knowledge. But I take one look at his leg, which he has propped up on an empty chair beside him, and turn him down.

"No way. Not with that bum leg of yours. Thank you, but I'll be fine."

"Oh, let him walk you, Katniss. A little exercise never hurt a burn injury." To my surprise—and from the looks of it, Peeta's too—it's Bannon who jumps in to try and convince me. He's grinning, and maybe a little bit drunk, judging by the flush of his face and the glassy look to his eyes. Peeta shoots his brother a look, but Bannon just keeps going. "The Mellark men are nothing if not gentlemanly. So if you don't walk him home, then I'll have to, and I'd really rather he do it."

I shouldn't let him. What if people ask questions? After all, it was easy enough for Prim to hear about our lunch at the Hob.

But since when do I care what people think?

I smile, feeling suddenly shy. "Okay. Thanks."

***

The walk back home is colder. And darker, with the moon obscured by cloud cover. It's quieter too, with not as much chatter to fill the air. It takes a full five minutes of walking—slowly, because Peeta really has no business walking me home on his injured leg—before either of us speaks.

"I scared you away, didn't I?"

When I don't respond right away, because I'm trying to figure out what to say, Peeta sighs. "I'm so sorry, Katniss."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," I snap back, and even I'm startled by how defensive I sound. I sigh. "Prim heard about us at the Hob, okay? And she started asking questions, and…I'm getting married next week, Peeta." The night air shifts, and a gust of wind rips through me, and I wrap my coat around me tightly, folding my arms at my waist.

"I know."

"So I really shouldn't be talking to you."

"Why, because two people of the opposite sex can't talk to one another if one of them is engaged?" He's being playful now, which annoys me, because here I was thinking we were having a serious conversation. I scowl at him and speed up my step, but Peeta just works a little harder to stay by my side.

"You know why."

"Katniss, I promise you, I don't."

Finally, I stop. _How can he not know?_ Apparently, it's obvious to everyone else. I throw my hands up, helpless as I look at him. He's watching me intently, with worried blue eyes that just make it that much harder for me to spit it out.

"Because I'm getting married next week, and yet I can't stop thinking about _you._ "

Peeta freezes, his mouth gaping slightly. My bottom lip quivers. Now I've really gone and done it.

"Katniss," he says quietly, calmly. "What are you saying right now?" He's inched his way over to me, so that barely a foot separates us.

"I…I…I don't know." I fumble. I'm terrible at this. And I'm terrified, too. And not just because I can feel my whole life turning upside down with my admission, but because it's just hit me. How much I like having Peeta in my life. I didn't realize it until just now, standing here in the dark somewhere between town and the Seam with him, but the boy with the bread has stuck with me. And I don't want to let him go.

"Yes you do," he prods. His eyes search mine for some sort of clue.

But he won't find any, because I honestly don't know what I'm doing. So I like being around Peeta. What do I even do with that revelation? I shake my head, looking at him dumbly.

"Well, then I'll just have to fill in the blanks myself," he whispers, and moves into me.

His mouth covers mine, and without thinking, I kiss him back. Have I lost my mind? Am I crazy? Do I care, as my lips capture his and I'm ignited with a warmth that courses through my veins like the strongest morphling? Peeta's hands cup my face, and he brings a sense of sturdiness to the kiss that makes me feel strangely safe, kissing him out in the open like this, even though it's dangerous.

But his lips, his hands, his body flush up against mine—it's all I can think about right now. The desire is so strong it overwhelms me. I crave his proximity, even though we're as close as we can possibly be. In fact, I need it. Need _him._

That's when I realize exactly what's so dangerous about Peeta and I.

It's the need.

I break apart from him suddenly, frowning at the content look on his face before he opens his eyes and his expression turns to concerned. "Katniss? What's wrong?"

"I have to go," I mumble, shaking my head.

"Wait," Peeta says, and his hand reaches and grabs on to my wrist. I pull away forcefully, mumbling that I'm sorry.

My body must work on adrenaline alone, because my mind's a jumbled mess, but I can feel myself running now, down the path in the direction towards home. I hear Peeta call after me again, and his footsteps and he attempts to chase me, but I'm too quick. And with his leg, it's no use. After a minute, I hear him give up.

I'm a horrible person, I know that. And Prim's right. I am above love. But I have to be. It's the only way I can survive.

Even if it means destroying others.


	3. Chapter 3

By morning, I've had a change of heart. I haven't slept at all, unable to think about anything but Peeta and our kiss. Well, that's not true. I also think about Gale, and how I've done something unforgiveable. But also how, in all the years I've spent kissing Gale, it's never made me feel like I felt last night. I know why it scared me so much. I've gone my whole life trying to avoid feeling too strongly about things. I've learned the hard way that loving something too much is worse than not loving at all.

But don't I at least owe it to Peeta to explain why I'm so worried about my own self-preservation? People don't just go around kissing people, running away, and then not explaining why they can never see the person again, right? I may be selfish, and cold, and afraid, but I'm not rude.

It takes me the entire morning to work up the courage. I spend the first part of it in bed, with Prim, as she happily recounts the highlights from last night. She's glowing—and considering she snuck into bed well after I did, she may have done her own fair share of kissing last night. Even in my self-loathing, it's hard not to smile at her stories. Besides, if I keep up appearances, she won't ask me any stupid questions, like _what's wrong?_

I spend the second half of the morning gathering supplies. Our warmest blanket. A book of matches. Some dried beef from our pantry. A small log of goat cheese. A few stale crackers. And I'm banking on finding the last of the season's apples along the way to round out the meal.

I need to get away for the night.

I don't decide to take Peeta with me until I reach the bakery. I'd been planning on telling him everything right there, in back by the pig pen, or maybe at the edge of the woods, if anything. But of course, something comes over me when I see him, taking out the trash just after the bakery closes up shop—always at noon on Sundays. It's a gray day today, foggy with an on and off mist of rain, and a wind that cuts to the bone. I made sure to wear layers beneath my father's trusty jacket since I'm sure I'll warm up during my hike.

But right now, all I am is cold. Peeta notices me, and stops short, his eyes a particularly icy blue.

"I don't have times for games today, Katniss." The bag of trash hits the bin with a forceful thud.

"I wanted to give you an explanation, for last night," I offer.

"What's there to explain?" he asks dully, crossing his arms.

I am not doing well so far. I sigh, fiddling with the strap of my hunting bag. "Can we talk about it somewhere else?"

The skeptical look Peeta gives me makes me think he's about to blow me off. He should. I don't deserve his attention. He considers me for a long moment, and finally sighs. "I'll get my coat."

I breathe a sigh of relief. "And maybe some leftover bread," I call out behind him. He's already turned to head inside, but I think I catch the corners of his lips turn into a reluctant smile.

***

"Where are you taking me?"

We've been walking for twenty minutes before he asks. I don't think Peeta's ever been in the woods before, judging by the way he's taking in the sights and sounds—the pines, looking greener than ever against the bare maples and oaks, the last birds that haven't flown south for the winter chirping, the crunch of earth beneath our feet. Though Peeta's steps are much louder than mine as he keeps up behind me. I can't even think about hunting with the noise he's making, but that's okay. I'm mostly carrying my bow and arrow for protection anyway.

Peeta's eyes had grown as wide as saucers when he saw me strap my bow and sheath to my back, back closer to the fence. He's probably never seen weapons like this before. And who knows, maybe he thinks I'm leading him to his death or something. I've treated him badly enough that it's not out of the realm of possibility.

"There's a house, a few more miles out," is all I tell him, continuing to lead him further and further away from Twelve.

We hike for another hour before we even reach the apple trees I'd been planning on scouring. Everything takes longer with Peeta, especially with his limp, but neither of us complains. And thankfully, there are still a few edible apples on some of the higher branches, and Peeta wordlessly helps give me a boost to scale the tree in order to reach them. When I jump down from the lowest branch, after triumphantly tossing a few fruits for Peeta to catch, he officially looks at me like I'm a crazy person.

"Is this what you do out here all day? Trek aimlessly for hours and climb trees?"

I smile, flipping my braid over my shoulder. "I also kill things."

"Right," he mutters.

"We're almost there," I assure him. And probably because we're too far away from the District for him to turn around by himself without getting hopelessly lost, Peeta continues to follow me.

We reach the lake before we reach the house. I pause after we clear the last of the trees, noting the two ducks that just landed on the edge of the water. My fingers itch to shoot them, but I restrain myself. Instead, I watch Peeta take in the scenery, the water that's still and dark and expands out in front of us in a large, misshapen oval, the marshy area that surrounds it, the trees and rolling hills that surround us on all sides. And then he sees the tiny brick house a couple hundred yards away and turns to me.

"What is this place?" he asks. _Only my favorite place on earth._ I smile, pleased he seems taken with it.

"I used to come here with my father," I tell him. We begin walking towards the house, and memories of lazy hot summer afternoons paddling around the lake after busy hunting mornings wash over me. As do late autumn days, much like this one, one where we picked off ducks and wild turkeys with ease. And all the times I'd come here by myself after he died because I needed to be alone. "I've never brought anyone else here before."

Peeta stops, raising his eyebrow. "Not even Gale?"

"Especially not him." This place has always been mine and mine only.

"So then why bring me?"

We've reached the house now, and I stare up at it, hoping it hasn't been inhabited by any animals since I've last been here. I turn to Peeta with a shrug.

"Because I wanted to." Then I shrug again. "And because you were willing to come."

"Well, I'm glad you did," he says softly as I push the door open with a long creak and hope for the best. The house's—I really should be calling it more of a shack—one room is thankfully empty, save for the makeshift seat I'd created from an overturned pail, the hay and brush stuffed mattress I made years ago that still looks to be in decent shape, and a pile of firewood by the hearth that I collected the last time I was here over the summer.

The first thing I do is move to the hearth, carefully arranging the logs, which are cold, but nice and dry, and Peeta patiently helps me build a fire. It doesn't take long with the matches, and soon we have heat, and light. Then I pull my supplies out of my bag, lying the blanket out on the floor next to the fireplace, and spreading out the food we've packed and collected, creating a pretty impressive picnic. I haven't eaten anything since the Harvest Festival last night, and despite my nerves, I'm definitely hungry.

I'm finally ready to talk as we eat, after I've gobbled down a couple of slices of the bread Peeta managed to take from the bakery, spread with goat cheese and topped with pieces of apple. Peeta's still chewing on a piece of dried beef when I begin.

"I'm sorry about last night."

"Yeah, about that." He rips off another bite with his teeth, and chews, looking at me expectantly.

I sigh. I need to do this; I owe him an explanation. At the very least.

"It's not that I don't want to be around you." _Obviously, as evidenced by me dragging him for miles through the woods._ "It's that I can't be around you."

"And why's that?" Peeta's not doing me any favors, seeming unimpressed by what I've said so far. He pops the rest of the beef in his mouth, brushing his hands together to rid them of the excess salt.

I could take the easy way out, and tell him it's because I'm with Gale, and that I love him and don't want to hurt him. But Peeta should know the truth. And I'm a terrible liar anyway.

I bury my face in my hands. "Because you scare me."

I hear Peeta snort. "Yes, I can see how I'd be terrifying to a trained killer."

"You know what I mean," I groan, staying behind my hands, where it's safe and I don't have to look at him.

"Why do you keep insisting that I know what's going on in that head of yours? Because I can assure you Katniss, I've been trying to figure you out for years, and I haven't been successful yet."

This makes me pull my hands away from my face and look up at him. Peeta's expression has softened, and he's smiling ruefully. "Help me out here?"

_What's going on in my head?_ Great question, Peeta. And I'd answer it if I could, but I'm still trying to figure it out myself. Because I came here with every intention of apologizing to him and saying goodbye, but I know that's not what I really want. Not when he's here in front of me, emitting some sort of magnetic pull that draws me closer to him.

"Can I ask you something?"

Peeta shrugs, giving his implied consent. He's annoyed, I know that much. But his eyes connect with mine, and his gaze softens when he sees how nervous, and conflicted, I am.

"Prim thinks you used to have a crush on me. In school." Okay, so it's not so much a question as a statement.

He raises his eyebrows, surprised. I watch him nervously as he rubs his jawline, covering his mouth with his hand while he considers how to respond. After a few moments of silence, I begin to panic. What if I'm wrong? What if Prim's stupid romanticized versions of reality have caused me to make an absolute fool of myself?

Then Peeta laughs. "Katniss, I've had a crush on you for forever," he tells me like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Oh. And while the brief moment of mortified panic subsides, I still feel a heat rising from my neck, flushing my cheeks, and burning the tips of my ears.

"And…you still like me now?"

Peeta gives me a look. "Do you really think I'd follow you five miles into the woods on a bum leg if I didn't?"

I smile, the feeling of happiness at his confession washing over me regardless of whether I want it to or not. "I just…can't believe you never said anything."

"I tried. Believe me, I tried. But I could never work up the courage." Peeta shifts his weight, inching closer to me on the blanket. "Do you remember me telling you how my father pointed you out to me on the first day of school?" I nod, and Peeta continues. "Well, I remember that day like it was yesterday. Your hair was in two braids instead of one, and you were wearing a red plaid dress. And then in music assembly, you sang the Valley Song, and I listened to hear if the birds outside would fall silent. And when they did, I knew, just like your mother was for your father, I was a goner."

I let the gravity of his words settle over me. I faintly remember the first day of school—I'm certain my hair would have been in two braids, back when my mother still braided my hair, and there was a red plaid dress that was eventually reduced to rags. And I used to love the Valley Song, back before singing was too painful, so I'm sure I sang it in music assembly too.

"You…have a remarkable memory," is all I manage to stammer.

Peeta smiles ruefully. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. I remember everything about you, Katniss. Clearly, you're the one who wasn't paying attention. You still aren't."

"That's not true," I shake my head, suddenly feeling defensive. And then the words just sort of tumble out of my mouth. "It's not that I'm not paying attention. It's that I like you too much."

And there it is. I've said it. Well, really, I've blurted it out, nonsensically, but at least it's out there.

Except I don't feel any better for it, and I don't think it solves any of my problems. In fact it may create even more, because now Peeta looks not only surprised, but confused.

"What does _that_ mean?"

I sigh, forcing myself not to bury my face back in my hands and look at him. How am I supposed to deny him? He's impossible not to want, with his blond hair that glows in the firelight, while he looks at me with those intensely blue eyes that make my chest flutter without fail, and worst of all, the small, hopeful smile he's wearing.

"It means that when you kissed me, it made me feel too many things. Things I've never been interested in. Things I don't want."

Peeta still looks confused as he prods me quietly. "Why don't you want those things?"

He moves in even closer, and our arms brush against one another's as he sits right beside me. My skin prickles at his touch, and I fight the urge to lean into him and just give in. _It'd be so easy._ I shake my head at my own thoughts, knowing I have to stick to my plan. I frown, thinking about the reason behind my answer.

"Because I've seen what those things can do to people. And I don't want to become that."

Peeta's face falls, the realization settling in. _My mother._ My incapacitated, waste of a mother who was so devastated by her husband's death that she almost let her children die with him. I've resented her for it since I was old enough to understand that love is what almost killed us all. And I've resented love, in general, ever since too. Which is why I refuse to feel it. Or anything close to it. With the exception of Prim, I will never love anyone.

I can't let Peeta Mellark try and change things now.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

My mouth drops. _What did he just say?_

"You heard me," Peeta tells me, clearly frustrated to the point he may actually be angry. "You can't cut yourself off from feeling things because you're afraid you might get hurt. That's not living!"

"What do you know about living?" I'm yelling now.

I watch Peeta open his mouth to yell something back, but he thinks better of it, taking a deep breath instead. He narrows his eyes at me. "Then why bother even talking to me? Or telling me that you can't stop thinking about me? And if you don't want to feel anything, why did you kiss me? Stop lying to yourself because you're scared. And maybe realize that you're not the only one with _feelings,_ Katniss. Because you confessing all of these things to me and then saying we can't act on them is absol–"

It's suicide maybe, but I do the only thing I can think of to shut him up and lean in and kiss him full on the mouth. Peeta's initial shock disappears quickly, and he kisses back with a determination that takes my breath away. And as expected, those feelings—the ones I don't want, the ones that overtake all of my senses—return. I'm beginning to learn that there's nothing I can do about it. And that they'd still be there whether or not I'm with Peeta.

And I'd rather be with Peeta.

His hands begin to roam, and I sigh into his touches, both of us somehow managing to break apart long enough to lose our coats. There's desperation to our actions—a hunger I've never felt before. The hunger drives us both, and it feels like second nature for my hands to comb through his hair, for him to pull me into his lap, for our mouths to cover each other's.

Soon, we're lying prone on the blanket, Peeta holding himself above me, kissing my neck. My hips arch into his, an involuntary reaction to his lips finding my pulse point. I can feel his erection pressing against me, a mounting pressure where his legs entangle with mine. My fingers find their way beneath his shirt and dig into the soft skin between his shoulder blades, and I crane my neck to reach my lips to his ear, placing a few urgent kisses just behind it. Peeta lets out a soft moan as I do, and he bucks his hips into me. The sensation makes my eyes flutter closed and my lower half ache.

I don't even think about it before I move one of my hands to his erection, watching as Peeta's breathing quickens at my touch. My pulse races, my blood speeding through my veins, and all of it honestly makes me feel dizzy. His eyes connect with mine, looking at me from under long, soft lashes. They're serious, but have a boyish eagerness in them too. We freeze, and I swallow, biting my bottom lip, waiting for him to say something.

"If we go any further, it's really going to change things. You know that, right?"

"Yes," I say, and my voice sounds small and weak. But really, it's the bravest decision I'll ever make.

"Okay," he says, still searching my face for any signs of hesitation.

"Okay," I repeat.

Peeta brushes a loose strand of hair off my face, and leans in for a short kiss. "Okay," he breathes. "Then let's at least move to the mattress."

We bring the blanket with us, keeping warm beneath it as we lose the rest of our clothing. His mouth is hot against my neck as his fingers make their way between my legs. I suck in a breath, and he dips one inside of me. He's watching for my reaction, and I roll my hips into the palm of his hand with a sigh. I catch a small, pleased smile on the corners of his lips, and his free hand moves to my breasts, kneading each of them gently. My hands clutch for the hair at the back of his neck, and I pull him in for a long, slow kiss, melting into the tingly warmth that follows.

He pushes a second finger into me, drawing tiny, tight and fast circles at my apex, and it feels so good I think I may burst. The shuddered breath I release against his lips ignites him, and his mouth travels all over my upper body—from my lips, down my neck, across my shoulder—as his fingers continue to almost break me. I run my hands down his broad, strong chest, and along his waist, and beneath his underwear, taking him in my hand. He feels hot, and hard, and as I stroke him, he jerks into my touch.

Peeta pulls his lips from the kisses he'd been busy dragging along my collarbone, his eyes dark as they search mine. His eyebrows flick up, his hand moving to dance around my hipbone as he props himself above me on his other elbow. _Are you ready?_

I nod. It's all the encouragement he needs.

My eyes flutter closed as he pushes into me, slowly, gently. A faint groan escapes his lips, and he repeats the movement. My body reacts to him, stretching and relaxing around him after a few more tentative thrusts. When I open my eyes, Peeta's blue ones are waiting for me.

"Is this okay?" he whispers.

I arch my back up to meet the next roll of his hips. "It's better than okay," I murmur. It's much, _much_ better than okay—the way my heart's racing, my skin on fire, a hot wetness building between my legs. Peeta pushes into me again, harder, and farther, becoming more confident with each thrust. It feels so good, so impossibly good, that a primal-like urgency takes over. I gasp at the feeling of his weight bearing down on me, wrapping my legs around his waist, allowing Peeta to reach even deeper inside of me.

The need becomes overwhelming, and we meet one another at a steady, relentless rhythm, becoming a tangled mess of limbs, crashing mouths, and sweaty bodies. For as slowly and cautiously as we began, we finish fast and quick. Peeta's name falls off my lips an embarrassing amount of times as I come first, the rush of pleasure rippling slow and strong through every part of me, until I'm rendered limp and boneless beneath him. Peeta follows me, and pulls out just before his release, his face contorting and his body shuddering as he spills himself onto my abdomen.

Afterwards, we both pause, our breaths heavy as we come down from our highs. Peeta looks at me like he can't believe that just happened, and we both smile small, almost embarrassed, smiles. Peeta presses his forehead against mine, resting it there for a long moment, his hair matted to it from exertion. I tip my chin up to press a lazy, warm kiss against his lips, and it's the most intimate I've felt all night.

Neither of us says anything. Peeta gets up to retrieve his undershirt, which he uses to clean us. Then we lie there, on the burlap mattress stuffed with grass and hay, beneath the wool blanket, more than warm enough from physical effort and the body heat of each other. I'm so content, I don't even worry about the sun having already set, the world outside dark. There's no way we're headed back tonight.

The quiet is peaceful. And safe. In Peeta's arms, I feel the safest I've felt since I was a little girl and my father was alive. And I let myself melt and relax into that comfort. It feels like such a luxury.

I'm not sure how long we lay there like that, naked and entangled together. I think I even drift in and out of a light sleep, because the next thing I know, it's the middle of the night and Peeta's stirring beside me. When I open my eyes to him, it doesn't look like he's slept at all. The fire crackles in the old stone hearth, and the scent of smoke and pine and cold musty air fills the room. "Don't get married," Peeta suddenly tells me, his voice soft, but urgent. My heart breaks at the earnestness in his eyes. "At least not to Gale."

"Peeta," I say, frowning as my voice cracks. "What are you doing?"

He rolls over to face me, pushing himself up onto an elbow, shaking his head. "I have to make my pitch to you, Katniss. I can't let this be just a one-time thing."

I watch him swallow thickly, his eyes darting between mine. His hand reaches out for mine, and I stare at it mutely, dumbly, as he takes it in his.

"I love you, okay? And I've tried and tried to let you go, because you weren't supposed to be a possibility for me, let alone a reality. But the truth is that I can't. Especially not now."

"Peeta," I choke out over a heavy lump in my throat. I'm still disoriented from sleep, and overwhelmed because I've done something I can't take back. It's too much; it's all too much. "Don't," I whisper. "You can't love me."

"I hate to break it to you Katniss, but it's too late to do anything about it."

"I'm serious, Peeta! I don't deserve it."

Peeta shakes his head, frustration—and exasperation—crossing his face. "That's your problem, Katniss. You think you have to settle. And unlike you, I'm not willing to do that. So I have to ask you. Please don't marry Gale."

I feel the hot wetness of tears brimming my eyes, unable to look at him. I'm exhausted, physically and emotionally. And I want nothing more than to just fall back asleep and not have to worry about the implications of what's happened between Peeta and I tonight. I know what my heart's telling me to do, but I still can't give him a straight answer, at least not right now.

"I just need some time to think, okay?"

Peeta's mouth falls into a thin line, but he nods, accepting my request. "I guess it is a lot to process if you haven't been privy to the information for the last seventeen years."

I smile sadly, and he returns my expression, leaning over to tuck a strand of loose hair behind my ear. "Why don't we get some rest now?" He looks as tired as I feel.

I don't object, letting the warmth of the fire, and the blanket, and Peeta's arms lull me to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I had to try an In-Panem AU for once and decided the farewell round of Prompts in Panem on tumblr was the perfect occasion. (I highly suggest you check out the other stories posted there too.) This is the last part-thank you for reading! And if you'd like, you can find me on tumblr at hashtagpeeta._

When I return home the next day—after a long, slightly tense, hike back to the district—my mother and I have a talk that night. Prim's at the Hawthorne's for dinner, which is a place I won't go within a fifty foot radius of right now, and after my mother and I eat a small meal of root vegetables and grains, she makes us a pot of tea. She hands me my cup, sitting at the table in our tiny kitchen area, as she asks me if I'm ready for the toasting. But when I only nod, without elaboration, she gives me a concerned look.

"You don't seem excited."

I sip my tea, inhaling the calming scent of chamomile, studying her. Her blue eyes have deep wrinkles around them—much too deep for her age, her pale hair filled with gray. _Love—and the hard life that followed after the loss of it—did that to her._

"Why have you never told me that you almost married the baker?"

My mother's mouth falls open. She takes her time deciding how to respond. "Where did you hear that?"

I get the feeling she knows exactly where I heard it.

"Peeta told me," I answer her anyway, not backing my gaze off of her.

She nods, takes a long sip of her tea, and then begins. "I was engaged to Peeta's father before I met yours. We were young, had been dating since we were practically kids, having grown up down the street from each other, and it's what I thought I should do. I did care for him, please don't think I didn't. But your father…when your father and I were in the same room, it was different. I think everyone, even Patrick—Peeta's father—noticed."

"What made it so different?" I ask. When she answers, it's like I could have read her mind.

"There's no real way to describe it, Katniss. When you feel it, you just know. It makes you feel powerful and powerless all at the same time. And there's nothing you can do to control it."

When I don't say anything right away, my mother narrows her eyes at me, her interest piqued.

"Speaking of Peeta. You've been spending some time with him lately."

A flush fills my cheeks while an icy chill runs down my spine. She can't know; there's no way anyone could know what we did last night. Especially not my mother.

"I have," I confirm. "He's…nice."

I should give my mother more credit sometimes. She reads me like a book. She looks at me sadly, her serious expression making me take notice.

"Katniss," she begins warily, "I know I haven't been a good mother. I'm weak and I've let my girls down in the worst possible ways. I know that you think love is a sickness. I've done that to you. But you're not me, Katniss. You're so much stronger than me. And you've got a spark in you, one I don't want to see die out just because you were afraid to let it burn."

My pulse quickens, and I tense. "Mom. What are you trying to say?"

She frowns. "It's not too late. In a few days, it might be too late. I will forever be happy for you and Gale, if he's who you want to spend your life with. He's a wonderful man who will protect you just as much as he'll let you be your own person, and you make good partners." Her frown turns into a small, rueful smile. "But give me a little credit for recognizing something inside of you that you're too afraid to acknowledge. You have a good heart, Katniss. Don't let it go to waste. Use it."

"He'll hate me," I murmur.

My mother shakes her head. "He'll understand."

I make a face. "Mrs. Mellark will _really_ hate me."

My mother frowns, and then shrugs. "Let her. You'll figure it out."

When I don't have a response, my mother sighs and continues. "Katniss. I just don't want you to live your life with regret. I know you're scared. That's okay, you're supposed to be. Love is scary. But since when have you let being afraid of something stop you from doing what you want?"

She's right. And Peeta's right too.

I finish my tea in silence, mustering my courage. But I'm out the door before my mother's even finished her cup of tea.

***

I pace outside his door, nauseous and sweating. It's pitch black outside, so no one notices that I'm there for a full ten minutes before I finally knock. When the door opens and all I see is blonde hair and blue eyes, I freeze.

I'd completely forgotten that Prim had come for dinner. I guess she took it upon herself to open the Hawthorne's front door, because that's who greets me first.

"Katniss? Is everything okay?" The look on her face says it all. _What's wrong? Where have you been? What are you doing? Something happened, didn't it?"_

"I'm fine," I assure her quietly, forcing a smile. I bounce on the balls of my feet, a combination of the cold air and my nerves. "I just need to talk to Gale. In private."

He's standing behind my sister before I can finish my last sentence. Recently home from a day in the mines, he's scrubbed himself clean of as much coal dust as he possibly can, but it's still there, a missed spot at the base of his temple, a permanent discoloration beneath his fingernails. His slate gray eyes appraise me, the concern immediate on his face. My nausea gets worse.

"Catnip? Are you all right? You look…sick." He's frowning now, and my eyes dart past the two of them, to the rest of the Hawthorne family gathered around their tiny hearth. It looks like they're playing a card game, and I've interrupted a perfectly pleasant evening. Everyone's staring.

"I'm okay," I repeat for Gale's benefit, although he, and Prim, don't seem so sure. "Can we, um, maybe go for a walk?"

Gale's brow furrows, astute enough to know that something's up. "Sure," he says, thankfully not making a big show of retrieving his coat. Before Prim turns to go back inside, she raises her eyebrow at me, giving me another look.

I shake my head. _Not now._ "I'll see you back at home," I tell her as Gale approaches, coat and warm wool gloves in hand. When he sees my bare fingers peeking out from my hunting jacket, he immediately offers them to me. I refuse them, still sweating from my palms anyway. He shrugs and puts them on his own hands, and asks me where I want to go.

We head down the main road through the Seam, past the sections of tiny houses and toward the meadow. Other than telling me he missed me at dinner—I was supposed to be there tonight—we don't talk until I feel we're alone enough.

The words _I don't want to marry you anymore_ fall surprisingly easily, and calmly, from my mouth. But they create complete confusion for Gale. At first, he doesn't believe me, asking me if this is some sort of joke. Then, when no one laughs, he tells me I'm just having cold feet. He's heard it happens to a lot of couples—a few days before the marriage, the gravity of it all hits you and you freak out.

"It's not cold feet," I tell him quietly.

"Katniss, where the hell is all of this coming from?" Gale's upset now. Not that he's crying or yelling or anything, but he's thrashing his arms through the air as he talks. "And why are you telling me this _now_?" His intense eyes narrow, challenging me to answer.

"I'm sorry," I tell him, shaking my head, and feeling horrible. I think maybe the only thing harder than confessing to someone that you love them is telling someone else that you don't.

Gale stares at me blankly. "You're not making any sense, Katniss. We'll make a good life for ourselves, for our families. And we've known each other for so long. I've never even considered my life without you."

Every logical part of me agrees with him. Gale is the sensible choice. We're so alike that the similarities are overwhelming. We grew up with similar backgrounds, becoming our household breadwinners at too young of an age. We have the same stubborn streak, the same kind of fire inside our bellies. Our families are close. We even _look_ alike. And he's right, for two people from the Seam, we could make a decent life for ourselves.

When I don't deny that he's right, he finally grows suspicious. And angry. His expression hardens, his eyes so cold they cut right through me. I wait for the question I know is coming.

"Is there someone else?"

One look at my color-drained face and a gaze that refuses to look anywhere but the ground, and Gale doesn't wait for my answer. "Are you kidding me, Katniss? There's _someone else_?"

He has the right to be angry, I know that. But his anger draws out my anger. How can he get mad at me for how I feel? I have no control over it. If I did, then there wouldn't be someone else. Telling him that—or yelling him that, really—doesn't help.

"I can't believe you," he tells me on repeat, pacing around me, the steam practically visible from his ears. He doesn't ask who the _someone else_ is, though. Maybe he doesn't want to know. Maybe he doesn't care. Or maybe he's figured it out on his own.

We stand there in horrible silence for a while, and the wind whips past us, with only the noise of the occasional faint howling of a wild animal in the distance. "Maybe it's for the best," Gale finally says, having worked through whatever he needed to internally. Though his acceptance doesn't stop him from giving me an icy stare. "War's coming, Katniss."

My stomach drops, and the terror hits first at the back of my neck, traveling through the rest of me as Gale explains. I have to strain to hear, his voice lower than a whisper. "They're rebelling in Eight. And a riot just broke out in Eleven last week—they destroyed a whole month's worth of grain. There are rumors Three is attempting to sabotage one of their electronic production centers." He pauses, the intensity of his expression growing. "It's happening, Katniss. It may take a while to gain traction in the rest of the districts, but our intel says all of us have underground operations. And when the time comes, I'm going to fight."

Hearing him speak like this, his eyes filled with passion, and his voice full of conviction, I know for sure that I've made the right decision. Not because I'm angry, or scared, that he's talking rebel talk with me out in the open, or for wanting to fight a war—if what he's saying is true, I just may sign up to fight in that war myself. But because for as much as Gale's willing to fight, and for the fighter's instinct I have inside of me too, neither of us seems to want to fight for one another.

***

I spend what was supposed to be my toasting day in the woods, hiding from the world. I've avoided town all week. People too. I even send Prim to the bakery for the cake we no longer need, unable to show my face there just yet. I get some joy out of the idea of Prim showing up and walking out of the bakery and through town with an expensive cake decorated in perfectly executed, beautiful sugar flowers, but I can barely look at it when I arrive back home that evening. And talking about whether Prim saw him at the bakery while she was there is out of the question.

It didn't feel right to run to Peeta right away. I needed some more time for myself. I'm sure by now word's traveled throughout the district that Gale and I broke up, and I'm sure he's wondering where I am and what's taking me so long. But I need to recover from one scandal before I go and create a whole other.

But that night, in bed, Prim's had enough. "He asked me if you were okay, you know."

It makes me freeze. I try to cover with a sigh, tugging at her grip on the covers to pull some further to my side. "I hope you told him that I'm fine."

I hear her cluck her tongue. "I told him you were moping around hiding out around here and that I don't know why you haven't come to see him yet."

"Prim," I groan. "You know I was supposed to marry someone else today, right? Don't you think it'd be a little…fast of me to show up at the bakery so soon?"

"I don't know, was it fast of you to disappear with him for a whole night while you were still engaged to someone else?"

I wish it weren't so dark so she could see my scowl more clearly. Although it does cover the redness spreading across my face and neck nicely. _Point taken._

"I didn't really tell him anything," she confesses with a sigh. "We were interrupted by his brother, who came in in a rush and told Peeta he needed to speak to him in private. It looked pretty urgent, like he was in trouble or something, so I left."

"Prim," I say, my whole body going rigid with an instinctual, sick feeling. "Did you happen to see Gale at the Hawthorne's tonight?"

"No," she replies. "But I didn't expect him to be there—I just assumed he'd be with his mining friends tonight anyway."

_That's what I was afraid of._

"Why are you asking?"

"No real reason," I lie, trying not to let any of the panic inside of me slip into my voice. "Just…thinking." I roll over and smile my best smile at her. "Thank you, by the way. For going to get the cake."

"Can we actually eat it tomorrow?"

"Yes," I laugh, smoothing her hair and kissing the top of her head, like I used to do when she was still little, and she rolls her eyes at me before turning over on her side. It's whole minutes later, and so quiet I think Prim's fallen asleep, my mind racing trying to figure out what Bannon could have possibly needed to talk to Peeta about, only able to focus on the riots and rebellions Gale mentioned, when her whispering voice interrupts me.

"Do you love him?"

Instead of her question terrifying me, like it might have only a week ago, it calms me.

"I think I do, Little Duck."

I can practically hear her smiling as she responds. "Then go tell him that already, Katniss."

I forget about my concerns of rebel attacks and destruction and potential civil war and smile myself.

"I will, I promise. First thing tomorrow morning."

***

I go before sunrise. Bakers and hunters keep similar hours, so the early morning trek into town, instead of the woods, isn't a big deal. Though my pulse rate suggests otherwise, a nervous energy jump-starting me and ensuring I reach the bakery in record time. With the exception of the bakery's windows, the entire town square is still dark.

I rap quietly on the back door, and wait for someone to answer, trying not to lose my nerve. As I was hoping, it's Peeta who comes to the door. My stomach flips at the sight of him, in his usual bakery uniform of white shirt, white pants and apron, his hair looking like it's still mussed from sleep. If there's any exhaustion I detect in his eyes, it dissipates when they land on me. He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms in front of him. If it weren't for the small, playful smile, I'd think he was mad at me.

"I'm sorry Miss, but we don't open until seven."

"I didn't get married to Gale."

He raises an eyebrow. "So I heard. Still got the cake, though."

"And it's too pretty to eat," I tell him. It earns me another smile.

"I promise, it tastes better than it looks. So. What are you doing here?"

I look past him, and the bakery, with its ovens firing, looks all sorts of warm. And I can see my breath out here. "Can I come in?"

Peeta hesitates, looking over his shoulder. The coast is clear, but I get the feeling it might not be for long. "How about I join you out there?"

I don't protest, watching him scale the few steps it takes to reach the ground, noticing his leg isn't giving him much trouble. I'm relieved—I thought for sure I'd helped to make it worse by leading him for miles through the woods. He stands in front of me, his eyes taking me in from top to bottom, as if he's making sure I'm really here. I breathe him in, slightly sweet, from the sugar and cinnamon, but musky too, like a little bit of sweat, already hard at work in the bakery. It's a good combination.

"So. You didn't get married. Am I allowed to infer certain conclusions from that fact?"

I step into him, thinking he must be freezing. He slides his arms around my waist, and I'm surprised by how much warmth he emits. I follow suit by wrapping my arms around him too, smiling when he takes it as an invitation to pull me flush against him. "You can, but I'm hoping you won't have to," I tell him with a smile, looking up into his gaze. His eyes flicker with hope and intensity.

_This._ This right here. This is where I'm meant to be.

"Why not?" he breathes.

I tilt my chin up, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "Because I came here to tell you that I think I'm in love with you too."

The expression on Peeta's face is pure happiness, a wide grin spreading across it that almost makes me laugh. But he raises an eyebrow at me. "You _think?_ "

My cheeks hurt fro the grin I'm wearing myself, and I nudge into him. "As someone pointed out to me, I haven't had the same amount of time to process things as others have." I roll up on my toes, muffling Peeta's laugh as I kiss him again.

"Mmmm," he murmurs. "What can I do to help you make up your mind?" His hands slide to the small of my back, and his words send a wave of excitement through me. It nestles itself in my core, and as Peeta's hands move to my hips, it turns into a dull ache.

"Hey, Peet, what are you doing out here? The bread needs to get into the ovens or else—"

Everyone freezes. Mr. Mellark at the threshold of the bakery's back door; Peeta and I in the middle of another slow, deliberate kiss. I jump back from him on impulse, suddenly incredibly interested in my boots as the heat of embarrassment rises from my toes to the tips of my ears.

"Dad. Hi." Peeta half says, half coughs, turning to face his father, shoving the hands that had been toying with the waist of my pants into his pockets of his apron.

"Oh. I didn't know anyone else was…here. Sorry to interrupt. Good morning, Katniss."

At that, I'm forced to look up and at the baker, who looks shocked, and a little confused, and also amused, judging by the small smile he's wearing.

"Good morning," I manage to return. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to keep Peeta from his work. I should…go."

Peeta shoots me a look that tells me I'm not going anywhere. Mr. Mellark actually chuckles. "No, no. It's perfectly okay that you're here. I can handle the prep work just fine by myself," he directs his last sentence toward Peeta, exchanging a look with his son.

"Thanks, Dad," Peeta responds, a hint of sheepishness on his face. "I'll be back in soon to help."

Peeta's father returns inside, and Peeta's eyes go wide as he turns back to me. "Guess he has his answer about why your toasting didn't happen." He pulls me back into him, a glint in his eyes.

"I didn't mean to get you in trouble," I tell him, frowning.

"With my father?" Peeta laughs. "Are you kidding? He's probably waiting to high five me when I get back inside." He brushes the hair off my face, his fingers lingering gently on my neck. "He understands more than anyone the pull you have on me."

I smile softly, but Mr. Mellark isn't exactly the parent of Peeta's I'm worried about it.

"What about your mother? She hates me. She'll never approve of us.

Peeta snorts. "My mother hates everyone, Katniss. And I don't exactly approve of her either. We'll call it even." He kisses me, an attempt to distract me.

"Peeta," I protest, but only after letting his lips warm me up for a few seconds.

"Honestly, Katniss. Do you think I've ever let what my mother thinks stop me from doing something?"

_The bread. The weal on his cheek._

Peeta nods at the realization that must be evident on my face. "And what about your mother and sister? What are their thoughts about all of this? That I'm a home-wrecker?"

His question makes me laugh. "Not at all. I'm almost positive they liked you before _I_ liked you." Then I kiss him again, deeper this time.

"You have to know something," I say, finally cutting the kiss off. Peeta sighs, and then sucks in a deep breath, working hard to be patient with me. I can tell he's thinking of better ways to spend our time other than talking at the moment. And while I am too, this is important. I hover my mouth over his ear, irrationally afraid someone might hear us. "There may be a rebellion soon."

He sighs again, but his expression takes on a more serious tone. His eyes lock on mine, his jaw set. "Katniss. My brother's the Mayor's son-in-law. I know."

"What's going to happen?" I ask, relieved he knows, but afraid, too. Because that means it's not just the rumored talk of angry coal miners.

"I don't know," he answers honestly, running his hands along the length of both my shoulders. "Right now though? I don't really care."

I frown. "Peeta. We have to care."

"I know. I don't mean I don't are at all. What I meant was, I have the girl of my dreams in front of me telling me she loves me back, and that I was hoping we didn't have to talk about a possible civil war right this minute."

"Fine," I concede. "If you're not concerned with rebellion and the possible overthrow of the Capitol, then can we talk about how I don't know if I ever want to get married?"

_What am I doing? Trying to make him fall out of love with me?_

Peeta just laughs at me. "C'mere," he says, pulling me into a tight hug. His mouth brushes against my ear. "As long as we can still do that thing we did at the lake, it doesn't matter to me."

I bite back a smile, and push myself back, using his chest as leverage, to look at him. "While we're at it, I don't want kids either."

"Hmm. Guess that means we'll have to be careful when we do that thing we did at the lake."

I scowl. "Peeta, I'm serious."

"I am too, Katniss." He sighs, laying his blue eyes on me, with a look that lets me know he's not really taking any of this lightly. "Look, all of these things—whether we get married some day, the fact that Panem's on the brink of war, or my mother," he shudders, as if the idea of Mrs. Mellark is worse than war itself, "no matter what, it's going to be okay. Because I've got you now. And when the time comes, we'll figure it out together."

_Together._

"Together," I repeat, liking the sound of that.


End file.
